


It's Complicated

by RedsRightHand



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/F, In Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 23:42:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6929122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedsRightHand/pseuds/RedsRightHand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vera opens up a whole new can of worms after confronting Bridget about her relationship with Franky.</p><p>Based on 04x02, exploring what could have happened if things had gone a little differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The possibility of a Vera/Bridget ship never occurred to me before season 4, but I liked the intensity between them in 04x02 and wanted to see that continue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vera confronts Bridget about her relationship with Franky, but things don't go quite as planned.

Vera was pissed. Pissed in a way she hadn’t been since the governor had slapped her in the face and then humiliated her with a very public demotion, casually disclosing her Hep C status to the entire prison staff in the process. Even then, she knew she wasn’t as pissed as she could have been, and certainly would have been had she still been under the mistaken impression that Ferguson cared anything at all for her. Ferguson had shown her true colors and Vera was done—done caring about her opinion, done playing her games. If anything, Vera drew more strength from that than anger. Ferguson had been a cruel mentor, and her flippant disposal of Vera once she no longer served the governor's interests had shown Vera that she was most definitely never her friend.

But Bridget was. Or so Vera had thought. The psychologist had been right, all those months ago in the prison kitchen, when she’d confronted Vera about Ferguson’s psychopathic tendencies. Vera hadn’t wanted to listen, but Bridget had a way of hitting uncomfortably close to home in making her opinions known. Later, once Vera had finally allowed herself to face the facts about Ferguson, she had begun to begrudge Bridget a certain amount of respect for her audacity to tell the truth in spite of whatever threats Ferguson may have—and probably had—thrown her way. Vera regretted her role in forcing Bridget’s resignation, then; remarkably, Bridget was nothing short of gracious in accepting her apology, even agreeing to back her up to the board if it came down to it. Vera had walked away with a newfound admiration for the woman, convinced that the rumors about her and Franky Doyle were indeed nothing but rumors. She was delighted, in fact, to reappoint Bridget to the prison staff following the fire. Since then, Bridget and Vera had formed an unlikely bond, with Bridget patiently encouraging her as she worked to overcome the final obstacle in her path to the governorship—her own lack of self-confidence.

Now, however, Vera was kicking herself. She just couldn’t believe—didn’t want to believe—that Bridget was capable of the same shit she’d been getting her whole life. First from her mother, then from the Freak, and now from Bridget too? Bridget, her only real friend now that Fletch was gone, had lied to her, used her to get her position at Wentworth back. And for God’s sake, she could have made the truth a little more difficult to discover. It hurt Vera to think about how she had stood on Bridget's porch, poised to confide in the psychologist yet again, and received not the advice on how to handle Ferguson’s remand to Wentworth that she had come for, but rather an eyeful of Bridget dancing in an extremely suggestive manner in the arms of none other than Franky Doyle herself.

And now the time had come to confront Bridget about it. What was she even going to say to her? She was pissed, yes, but so much more than that, she was hurt. It wasn’t even really that Bridget, practically the poster child for ethical conduct, was having an inappropriate relationship with a former inmate and client—it’s that she had lied about it, had pretended to be Vera’s friend and then completely betrayed her trust. Vera wasn’t entirely sure that was the only reason she was upset with Bridget, but that’s what was easiest to believe right now, and she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to give Bridget a good dressing down about it the moment she walked through that door.

“Miss Westfall to see you, Governor.” Miss Miles was at the door.

“Send her in,” Vera said with all the authority she could muster in her voice.

“We need to talk about Ferguson—” Bridget began matter-of-factly. She had barely gotten the words out when Vera spun around to face her.

“You are having a relationship with Franky Doyle,” she burst out accusingly. “A former prisoner. You’ve compromised yourself, and you’ve compromised me. I went out on a limb to have you reinstated.”

Bridget looked taken aback. “The relationship with me and Franky started when she left Wentworth,” she stated, maintaining her composure. “She was no longer a client.”

Vera glared at her. At least she didn’t have the gall to deny the relationship this time. “I intend to recommend to the board that you be dismissed immediately, and in the meantime you should go home.”

Bridget let out a sharp breath and bit her lip. “I know you feel this is a pers—“

“Do not tell me how I feel!” Vera cut in, her voice shaking almost imperceptibly. There was a long pause.

“Okay. You’re right. I deserve that.” With a rueful half smile, Bridget turned to leave.

“One more thing,” Vera added. She really couldn’t help herself. Bridget was right, this was personal. “If Doyle is living with you, that would constitute a breach of her parole.”

It was Bridget’s turn to glare at Vera. Vera met her eyes unflinchingly. “Miss Westfall,” she continued coldly. “Why did you lie to me, when I first confronted you about this in the kitchen months ago?”

Bridget stood there, gaping. “I didn’t lie,” she insisted. “I just told you—“

Once again, Vera cut her off. She had taken a step closer to Bridget while waiting for her response. In a second she closed the gap between them and before either of them could react, Vera backed Bridget up against the door and their lips met. 

Her lips lingered on the other woman’s for just seconds. As abruptly as the kiss had started, she pulled away. “Oh—“ she faltered. “I—“ she stared at Bridget, mouth open, no words coming to her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered finally, the tone of authority she’d commanded before now completely gone. “I—I’m so sorry,” she repeated again, looking down.

Bridget looked as shocked as Vera felt. “I—I’m going to go now,” she murmured, after giving the governor a hard, appraising look. Vera blushed under her gaze, imagining Bridget was X-raying her, sure she could see every shameful and embarrassing thing Vera had ever thought or done. She was relieved when Bridget turned toward the door again and slipped out. 

Vera locked the door behind her and slumped down against it, head in her hands. What the hell had she just done?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridget tells Franky about Vera's threats to report them.

Bridget stepped out of the governor’s office in shock. She didn’t know what the hell had just happened. Was Vera...manipulating her? In all the time they had spent together, Bridget had never pegged her as the type to play games. But, with Franky involved, she wasn’t about to take any chances. Deciding she’d be best off leaving as she had been told to do, she had a word with Mr. Jackson about rescheduling her appointments to the part time psychologist who would be in the next day. Then she gathered her things and headed for the parking lot. As she walked past the exercise yard, she smiled sardonically to herself. This was not the first time she’d been fired from Wentworth. By Vera. Over Franky Doyle.

Once outside, she stood for a moment leaning against her car, remembering Franky walking towards her here the day she had been released. She drew in a deep breath and thought about how beautiful she had looked. It was the first time Bridget had seen her out of teal. _Was it worth it?_ she wondered to herself. _I can’t believe I’ve fucked this all up. Us up. And for what?_ She sighed and got in the car.

Her thoughts were scattered everywhere. _Franky. Parole violation. Vera. Investigation. Kissing. Board. Ve—no, dammit. Pull yourself together, Gidge._ She closed her eyes and began to count her breathing, a meditation technique she often used with her clients. First, she checked in with her thoughts, noting an upsurge of negative self talk. Sighing, she moved on to her emotions, taking in her overwhelming feelings of anxiety. Finally, she checked in with her body, and that’s when she realized she was aroused. “Shit,” she said, abruptly opening her eyes. She didn’t even want to try to unpack that right now. She started the ignition, buckled her seatbelt, and pulled out of the lot.

How she made it home, she couldn’t have said. She found herself turning into her driveway 20 minutes later and saw Franky’s car parked at the curb. She was not looking forward to having this conversation with Franky, but knew she needed to do it now before Vera had time to report them. She could deal with any consequences to her own career that might arise, but she had gotten Franky into this, and now she had to protect her at all costs.

“How would Vera know that? How would she know anything about us?” Franky asked skeptically after Bridget had given her the briefest of recaps of her encounter with Vera earlier in the day.

“I don’t know. It seemed pointless asking her how she found out,” Bridget replied with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“It’s the Freak winding her up. She’s just tryin’ to bluff ya,” Franky reassured her. “You’ve gotta deny everything. And what’s she gonna tell them anyway? The Freak could smell me?”

Bridget tried again. “Franky, listen.”

“What is she, a fucking beagle?” Franky laughed.

“It’s not a bluff, alright?” Bridget said. “And I don’t want you getting caught up in this,” she added firmly.

“Whaddya mean?” Franky asked.

Bridget braced herself and told Franky what she’d been dreading to say. “You gotta pack your stuff and get back to your place, now.”

“You’re kicking me out?” Franky asked incredulously.

“If Vera reports you to your parole officer and you’re not living where you said you were living, they’re gonna ship you straight back there,” Bridget argued.

“And I will fucking kill her.” A glimmer of intense anger, the dangerous kind, flashed in Franky's eyes.

“Franky,” Bridget started, a warning note in her voice.

“No! Fuck that, Gidge,” Franky said in a quavering voice. “I worked hard for this and you know it. For the first time I’ve got a life, and I’ve got a girl, and I’m about to start a job.”

Bridget sighed. “You’ve done great, baby. I’m proud of you. But we need to focus on the practicalities of the sit—“

“Why, and let that vindictive shit take it all away?”

‘”It’s not just about you, Franky. She thought I was her friend.”

“You’re defending her.” It was a statement, not a question.

“It’s my fault,” Bridget nearly whispered. “I fucked everything up,” she said, this time more assertively. She didn’t quite know if she was referring to her relationship with Franky or her friendship with Vera. Both, she supposed.

Franky nodded as she reached for her keyring and started pulling Bridget’s house key off. “Fine,” she said, practically throwing the key at Bridget. “I’m outta here.”

Bridget could only sit with a pained expression on her face as Franky stormed out.

“Fuck,” she said, and poured herself a glass of wine to mull over the situation they had found themselves in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My take on Vera's dinner with Fridget.

Vera woke the next morning with a headache. She didn’t know how she had made it through the previous afternoon after doing…you know…that thing…to Bridget, of all fucking people. Luckily the prison had been in relative peace—the calm before the proverbial storm—because she was too frazzled to deal with anyone’s antics. She sat at her desk mindlessly staring at the draft of the contraceptive program brochure she was supposed to be reviewing until it was 5:00. Upon leaving the prison, she went straight home and opened the bottle of wine she had been saving for her next wine date with Bridget.

_Bridget is, err, was my friend,_ she thought as she nursed her wine. _I was angry, and I reacted to the intensity of the situation without thinking. That’s all it was, a reaction. Okay, an overreaction, but Bridget is—no, was, dammit—my friend, that’s all_ , she reasoned, the memory of Bridget’s blue eyes widened in surprise after their kiss filling her head. She hadn’t heard from Bridget since, but then again, she hadn’t really expected to. Vera had fired her—and then kissed her. This was all on Vera now. But the more she turned it over in her mind—and the more she drank—the more worked up she got. She hated Bridget for this, for lying to her, for presuming to know how she felt, for looking at her so intensely, for arousing emotions she couldn't quite name. The words Channing had spoken to her just a few days before echoed in her mind: “Don’t fuck it up.” Of course he had been talking about the press conference, which she’d managed to salvage, thank you very much, but his words seemed to take on a more personal meaning now. _Yeah, I fucked it up, alright_ , she thought bleakly.

Upon arriving to work she realized that her hangover was going to be the least of the day’s problems. Between an early morning meeting with Channing, who came bearing a nightmare of a request from Ferguson, and the women’s outlandish protest for conjugal visits in the yard, Vera was in full blown damage control mode from 10:00am until well past the end of her usual working day. She had no idea why Ferguson was making this absurd request—Ferguson never did anything just for the hell of it. No, there had to be some reason, didn’t there? But what could it possibly be? Channing was clearly going to be of no help here, and it wasn’t a matter she felt she could trust any of the other officers with. She needed somebody who could be discrete, someone who understood the inner workings of a psychopath’s mind. She needed a shrink. Fuck, she needed Bridget.

Steeling herself, she turned left instead of right out of the parking lot after work, and 20 minutes later she was pulling up to the house of the woman she—well, what exactly did she feel towards Bridget? Hell if she knew, but Bridget really did seem to be her only option here.

There was only one car parked outside the house, so Vera figured Franky wasn’t home. Good. Vera didn’t know what Bridget may or may not have told Franky about their encounter the day before and didn’t have the energy to deal with a pissed off Doyle. No, this, now, was just about the situation with Ferguson.

After walking up to the porch, Vera raised her hand and hesitated for several seconds before knocking. She crossed her arms defensively as she heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and within seconds Bridget appeared.

“Oh God,” the psychologist said wearily. “What has she done?”

“Doyle?” Vera asked distractedly. “Nothing. Is she here?”

“No,” Bridget said, crossing her arms to mirror Vera. “If you don’t believe me, come in. You can have a look around.”

“I’m not here to check up on Franky,” Vera said.

Bridget looked at Vera. “You were right to, uh, fire me.” She smiled at Vera conciliatorily. “Um, I made a mistake. I’ve probably made more than one mistake,” she conceded. “But please, Vera, don’t let my fuck up ruin Franky’s life.”

Vera didn’t say anything, a thoughtful look on her face. “Okay,” said Vera at last. “I accept that.” She paused, her brows furrowed. “I’m actually here because I have a much bigger problem to discuss. It’s nothing to do with you and Franky.”

Bridget looked both relieved and concerned. “Oh no. It’s Ferguson isn’t it?” When Vera nodded she said, “Why don’t you come in?”

Bridget held open the door for Vera as she walked in. Vera was surprised by the homey feel of the place. She didn’t know why, but she had expected something more…postmodern from the psychologist. Bridget invited her to sit. Vera did so, glancing around at her surroundings without really taking them in, and decided she’d better cut to the chase. She explained Ferguson’s request to be released into general population, adding, “I’ve spent most of the day going over her petition. It is frighteningly convincing.”

Bridget wrung her hands, perplexed. “I’m wondering what her motivation is. I mean, if Bea doesn’t kill her, someone else will.”

Vera shook her head. “No, it’s too easy. I want Ferguson to face justice. If she dies on my watch, she wins. The safest thing for all concerned is to get her out of Wentworth and back into the psych hospital.”

“She passed all the assessments,” Bridget said, looking troubled. “They’ve got no grounds to hold her there.” Vera rolled her eyes, wondering just how Ferguson had managed to weasel her way out of there in the first place. A beeping noise went off behind them.

Bridget rose and walked over towards the kitchen. “I’ve got a lasagna in the oven.” She paused indecisively. “Um, would you like some dinner?” she finally asked, her tone uncertain.

“If-if we could continue our conversation, yes,” Vera stammered, caught off guard by the olive branch being offered to her.

“Yes.” Bridget agreed. Their eyes met, and Bridget opened her mouth. Vera had agreed not to mess with Franky’s parole for now, but Bridget knew that was only because she had more pressing things on her mind. She also knew that Vera wouldn’t forgive her that easily for her fuck up. Vera was loyal, but not a pushover. Not anymore. _She’s blossomed_ , Bridget thought.

Before she could say anything, though, there came a pounding from the front door.

“Gidge, open up.” It was Franky. Shit.

“It’s Doyle.” Vera stood up and faced Bridget with a hard look on her face.

“Uh…” Bridget's voice trailed off weakly. _What impeccable timing_.

Vera fixed Bridget with a challenging stare. “She was at Wentworth last night.”

Bridget gave a start. “What was she doing there?”

“Well, I don’t know. One of the officers saw her in the car park,” Vera replied, looking Bridget up and down.

“Come on, I don’t have my key,” came Franky’s impatient voice from beyond the door.

“I’ll handle it,” Bridget told Vera, who looked on skeptically as Bridget let herself outside. 

“What, you’re not letting me in the house?” Vera heard Franky scoff from the porch.

“No, there’s someone in there," Bridget said, looking at Franky with concern. “What are you doing? What’s with you not having your phone on for 24 hours?”

“I needed time to think,” Franky replied.

Bridget studied her. “Is that all you were doing?”

“Yeah…what, you don’t believe me?” Franky asked, looking somewhat put out.

Bridget said only, “I know you were at Wentworth.”

Franky exhaled sharply. “That is outstanding.”

“Why?” Bridget demanded.

Franky shrugged and shook her head as if to clear it. “I mean, that’s what I came to tell ya.” She paused, choosing her words. “It’s not easy, after being on the inside, to know how to be on the outside. And…I love being free, but it scares the fuck out of me. And sometimes, like last night, I feel like it’s all gonna get ripped away, like it’s not really mine.” She seemed on the verge of tears. “You know, everything seemed clearer in prison.” She looked away. “And the thought of that was somehow comforting so I went back.”

Bridget looked at her steadily. “Did it help?”

Nodding, Franky said, “Acknowledging the fear. Isn’t that what you say?”

Bridget looked at Franky with such tenderness that Vera, who had been witnessing their exchange through the window, felt a pang and looked away. She wished she were anywhere but there right now.

Outside, Franky was gazing into Bridget’s eyes. “I just wanted to tell you, thank you,” she sniffled.

Franky cupped her hands around Bridget’s face and leaned towards her until their foreheads touched. They swayed together, but Bridget, acutely aware of Vera on the other side of the glass, felt suddenly self-conscious. She gently pulled away from Franky and asked her to wait a minute. She went back inside and smiled apologetically at Vera. “Well, I suppose you heard everything.”

“No,” Vera lied. “Oh, okay, I did,” she admitted when Bridget raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Um, do you want to invite Doyle in? I can give you two some privacy. Let’s talk about this later.”

“No,” Bridget said quickly. “Please stay,” she said, a note of pleading in her voice. Vera’s expression was unreadable.

In the end, Franky and Vera both stayed for dinner. Bridget caught Franky up to speed on the latest developments at the prison as she cut the lasagna. As they began to eat, an awkward silence fell. After a minute or two, Franky looked up and addressed Vera. “Could you pass the salad?” Vera obliged. With a wicked grin on her face, Franky added, “Oh and the pepper?” Vera paused and handed it over. Franky was clearly enjoying this. Bridget gave Franky a look, and she changed the subject. “So you got duck eggs. There’s gotta be something the Freak wants, that’s worth the risk.”

“Or she has a death wish,” Vera pointed out, as if this were obvious.

“Psychopaths aren’t suicidal,” Bridget said firmly. “They thrive on power.”

“Yeah, but she’s got no power in protection. There’s no one she can manipulate.” Franky fell silent as understanding swept over her face. Her mouth fell open and she laughed out loud. “Fuck!”

Vera looked at her as if to say, “Spit it out, Doyle.”

“She wants to be top dog.” A look of shock crossed Vera’s face. “Watch out, Red,” Franky said, leaning back.

There was a long silence. “Fuck, Franky, I think you’re right,” said Bridget after a minute. She and Vera had both stopped eating.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Franky asked, looking from one woman to the other.

“There has to be some way to get her out of Wentworth. If she stays, I’m not sure we’re going to be able to prevent the board from granting her petition, and letting that happen is simply not an option,” Vera put forth. “Bridget, I know she passed her previous assessments at the psych hospital, but wasn’t she on a hefty dose of anti-psychotics then? I know for a fact she’s not been taking them since she’s been at Wentworth. Maybe if we evaluate her again in her current lucid state, her underlying instability will show through.”

“Well, it can’t hurt to try,” said Bridget.

Vera’s eyes flickered down and then back up at her. “Can you do it?” she asked quietly. “You have more experience than the part time prison psychs combined, and you understand better than most what’s at stake here. Quite frankly, you’re the only person I’d feel comfortable doing this.”

Bridget sighed. “Are you sure you want me to come back?”

“Just for this,” Vera stipulated. “Look, I’m not going to say anything about Franky to the parole board, and I’m not going to report you either. That’s not to say you don’t still have some explaining to do.”

Bridget glanced at Franky and then back at Vera. “Okay,” she agreed. “When do you want me in?”

“I’ll have to double check the schedule, but how does 2 pm tomorrow sound?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Good.”

There was another awkward silence. “Well, I’d better be going,” Vera said politely. “There’s a lot going on at the prison right now. Need to be well rested. Thank you for dinner. Good to see you’re doing well, Doyle.” She nodded at Franky and got to her feet.

Bridget said, “I’ll walk you out. Babe, do you mind getting the dishes going? I’ll be back in a minute to help you.”

“Sure. Always good to see you, Governor,” Franky said with a wink.

Vera smiled in spite of herself. It really was good to see Franky doing well. She didn’t want to see her end up back in prison any more than Bridget did and had meant it when she said she’d let the matter of her parole violation rest.

She and Bridget walked out to the curb where Vera had parked her car, neither one saying anything. They reached the car and Vera turned to face Bridget. “Thank you again for dinner. I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, then? Can you come in a little early to go over the assessment and set up the cameras? We will need to be recording this.”

“Yes,” Bridget said. “Vera—“

“Don’t,” Vera said. “Please don’t. Not now. Let’s just get through this, and then we can…talk, or something, if you want.”

“Okay.” Bridget studied her in light from the street lamps. She looked pained, Bridget saw with a stab of guilt.

Again, Vera had the impression that she was being X-rayed.

“Can I just say, I’m sorry, Vera. And I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, Bridget turned. Vera watched as she walked away. She wanted to call out to the psychologist, but thought better of it. She watched her go into her house, and saw Franky turn to greet her with a kiss through the lighted window. Vera couldn’t bear to see any more. She got in her car and drove away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridget debriefs with Vera and has a talk with Franky, who's been doing some soul searching.

Bridget was reeling. Her interview with Ferguson had concluded prematurely with Bridget losing her cool and calling the former governor a cunt. She should have known better, dammit. She had played right into Ferguson’s hands. But you know what? She could have dealt with Ferguson’s mind games had their scope been limited only to her. However, Ferguson’s continued attempts to emotionally abuse Vera from behind bars filled her with a fury she was hard-pressed to keep at bay. Now she was trying to decide whether she should go back to her own office to try to pull herself together or stop by Vera’s office and check in with her. Vera was probably in a more vulnerable state at the moment, she decided, and headed toward the governor's office.

Finding the office unusually, but mercifully, empty when she arrived, she went directly to Vera’s door and knocked. “Governor? It’s Miss Westfall,” she called, attempting to sound as professional as possible for the benefit of whoever might be listening. She heard a faint “come in,” and opened the door. She entered, checking to make sure the blinds on the window that overlooked the rest of the office were closed before collapsing into one of the chairs in front of the governor’s desk. She blinked, trying to hold back tears.

“Bridget—“ Vera started, but Bridget put up a hand to stop her.

“I’ll be okay, I just need a minute. Please.”

They sat in silence. Bridget focused on pushing the painful emotions that had welled up in her during the interview with Ferguson to the back of her mind. After a couple of minutes had passed, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

“That bitch,” she said, looking up at Vera, who was clearly struggling to keep her own inner turmoil at bay. “She memorized the indicators, she recognized key words. She knew exactly what I was doing, so she turned it around on me, on us. Are you okay?”

Vera looked up and around, anywhere but at Bridget. “You know we can’t use that recording,” she said, ignoring the question at hand.

Bridget dropped her gaze and sighed. “No,” she said with resignation. The air between them was tense. Neither dared mention what the governor had revealed about the other.

There was a knock at the door. It was Miss Miles. “You wanted to see Smith, governor?” she asked.

“Send her in,” Vera replied.

“I’ll leave you to it,” said Bridget, and she made her way to her former office, where she locked the door and sat numbly with her phone in hand, her fingers hovering above speed dial. She wanted to call Franky but didn’t know how she could explain why she was so upset without revealing what Ferguson had said about Vera, or her own far too painful secret. She decided against making the call, and instead sat staring at the ceiling, lost in her thoughts. She felt helpless. For the second time this week, the future of someone she cared deeply about had been threatened. At least she knew that Franky was safe. She could trust Vera to keep her word, but Ferguson was a wild card. Who only knew what she might say—might have already said—about Vera, and to whom?

After awhile she managed to collect herself enough to face anyone she might encounter on her way out and prepared to leave. This time really was for good, she thought wistfully. She texted Franky, who was going to come pick her up. To her surprise, she found Vera waiting for her at the front desk.

“Um," Vera cleared her throat. "I just wanted to let you know that your job is secure as long as I’m governor. However long that might be.” She laughed shortly.

Bridget looked at her and smiled. “Well I’m grateful.” She meant it.

“Bridget,” Vera said, hesitating. “Those things that Ferguson said about me…”

“Don’t give them another thought,” interjected Bridget. Bridget knew the former governor was too smart to be caught up in outright lies. Instead, she collected damning information about people and saved it for strategic moments. But Bridget knew she was a master manipulator, skilled at distorting truths and making molehills out to be mountains. She put no real stock in anything Ferguson had to say about anyone.

“No, I wanted to ask…you don’t think that I’m in any way like her?” Bridget couldn’t bear to see the agony etched on Vera’s face.

“The very fact that you can even ask that question means you’re not,” said Bridget. “Psychopaths have no fear.” She smiled warmly at Vera, who smiled back wanly.

Bridget had to get out of there. The day's events had taken their toll on her and she felt suddenly overwhelmed. “Night, Vera.”

“Night,” came the governor's response.

Bridget walked out of the parking lot and down to the road, where Franky was pulling up.

“Hey, spunky,” Franky called.

“Hey, baby.” Bridget crossed the street and got in the car. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“No sweat. I wanted to.”

“It’s not weird for you, being here?”

Franky smiled ironically. “Well, it’s no weirder than the rest of my life.” She glanced over at Bridget without saying anything.

“You okay?” Bridget asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just got—I just got some stuff I gotta sort out.” She took a deep breath and faced Bridget. “I should move out,” she said in a rush. “I have to, Gidge. If I’m ever going to learn how to live on the outside, I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.”

Bridget gave Franky a tender smile. “Sounds like a breakthrough.” Something in Franky’s face gave her pause. “We’re not breaking up, are we?” she added as a knot began to form in the pit of her stomach.

“Gidge—“ Shit. Bridget knew by the tone of Franky’s voice what the answer was going to be. “Gidge, the thing is, in order to do that, I need some space. You’ve given me so much love and support, more than I deserve, and I am forever grateful to you for that. But, I need to go this part of my journey alone.”

“Oh,” was all Bridget could say. She hadn’t been expecting this.

“Gidge, I’m not saying I don’t wanna be with you. I really care about you, and we work so well together, but...it’s not fair on you to put your life on hold while I figure these things out. I’ve been thinking about it, and, well, how about we take some time, say, 6 months? Then let’s come back and see where we’re both at,” Franky said.

Bridget felt a curious mixture of emotions coursing through her. “Baby, I’d be lying if I said I wanted you to go, but I’m also so incredibly proud of the progress you've been making, and if you think this is the right thing for you, then you have to do it." She was silent for a minute before continuing. "To be honest, sometimes I question if I've done right by you in pursuing this relationship. Maybe that’s something I could stand taking some time to sort out too.”

“God, doing the mature thing sure does suck, doesn’t it?” Franky said, wiping at her eyes.

“Yeah, it does, baby.” A tear trickled down Bridget’s cheek.

They locked eyes, and Franky leaned in. “See you in 6 months,” she whispered, and kissed Bridget softly.

“See you in 6 months," Bridget echoed plaintively.

What a fucking day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, everyone! I hate to rip people's hopes and dreams for Fridget apart, but it had to be done...good things are coming though!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set concurrently with the previous chapter. This is where the story begins to really diverge from 04x02

What a shit day. Vera wasn’t thinking straight. Couldn’t think straight. Ferguson—that fucking bitch. Her return to Wentworth had turned everything upside down. Just when Vera was starting to see herself as strong and maybe even worthy enough to handle the job she had longed after for all these years, Ferguson had come to tear her back down again with her mind games. Except this time, Vera wasn’t going take the bait. But she had, hadn’t she, because here she was, feeling powerless and alone, second-guessing herself, second-guessing Bridget, worrying for Bridget as well as for herself. Ferguson had proven once again just how skilled she was at sowing seeds of discord and doubt. Damn her.

There was a knock at the door. “Governor? It’s Miss Westfall.”

Fuck. Bridget was the last person she wanted to see right now. “Come in,” Vera responded feebly.

The door opened and there was Bridget, standing before her looking utterly undone. She entered, glancing at the window overlooking the rest of the main office, checking that nobody could see in, Vera guessed, and then lowered herself into a chair in front of the desk. She blinked rapidly and bit her lip. It seemed like she was about to cry.

Vera hesitated. She didn’t quite know what to say. Bridget had always been the one to comfort her. “Bridget—“

Bridget put up a hand. “I’ll be okay, I just need a minute. Please.” Vera had never seen her looking so vulnerable.

Vera nodded and looked down. She needed to compose herself as well. After a minute or two that seemed to stretch into eternity, Bridget let out a deep breath and said, “That bitch.” Bridget must be beyond upset, Vera thought; she had never known her to use that kind of language about anybody. Bridget continued, clearly incensed. “She memorized the indicators, she recognized key words. She knew exactly what I was doing, so she turned it around on me, on us. Are you okay?” she added, looking at Vera with concern.

Vera couldn’t bring herself to meet Bridget's gaze. Truth be told, she didn’t really know. She changed the subject. “You know we can’t use that recording.”

Bridget sighed wearily. “No,” she agreed. A silence fell between them, heavy with things unspoken. Ferguson’s words echoed in Vera’s mind. Weak…pathetic…shit-kicker…

Her racing thoughts were interrupted by Miss Miles. “You wanted to see Smith, governor?” she asked, sticking her head into the office.

“Send her in,” Vera replied.

“I’ll leave you to it,” said Bridget, and left hastily as Vera waved Bea in.

Her brief meeting with Bea did little to reassure her that Ferguson would survive being mixed in with the rest of the prison population, providing that the former governor did somehow manage to get her way—and Vera had little doubt that she would. When didn’t she?

Vera felt herself tense up with anger and frustration. Ferguson was a world class manipulator and was definitely not above blackmail, though she was too smart to do it outright. She had seen to it long ago that Vera knew that she knew what Vera had done to her mother, the implication being that she could easily say the right things to the wrong people if Vera didn’t fall in line with her agenda. Vera knew Ferguson saying what she had to Bridget was a way of reminding her of this fact. It was a mark of how much Vera had come to trust Bridget that she wasn’t at all worried about Bridget saying anything to anyone about this. But Vera wondered if she’d ever be able to look Bridget in the eye again. What would the psychologist think of her now? That she was just like Ferguson? Hell, _was_ she just like Ferguson? She really didn’t know anymore.

She felt restless and got up from her chair. As much as she didn’t want to face Bridget, she also knew now that she couldn’t lose Bridget as an ally here. She would offer her her job back. For purely pragmatic reasons, of course.

“Um," Vera began. She had managed to catch Bridget by the front desk on her way out. "I just wanted to let you know that your job is secure as long as I’m governor. However long that might be.”

Bridget looked surprised. “Well I’m grateful.”

“Bridget,” Vera said, hesitating. “Those things that Ferguson said about me…”

“Don’t give them another thought,” said Bridget matter-of-factly.

“No, I wanted to ask…you don’t think that I’m in any way like her?” Vera dreaded the answer, but she felt a sudden need to know one way or the other where she stood with Bridget.

“The very fact that you can even ask that question means you’re not,” said Bridget gently. “Psychopaths have no fear.” Her reassuring smile lit up the corridor in a way that said to Vera that maybe, just maybe, things between them would turn out to be alright after all.

Vera nodded as she buzzed Bridget through the door. “Night, Vera.”

“Night,” Vera echoed.

Vera watched Bridget’s retreating figure until she was out of sight and then checked her watch. Her shift was almost up, thank God. She headed back to her office to retrieve her bag. She pulled her phone out to check for any missed calls—as if anybody ever called her, she thought sullenly—and almost at that moment, it began to vibrate. She looked at the screen. Bridget.

Vera swiped the screen and answered. “Hello?”

“Hello, Vera?” Bridget’s voice sounded unusually high pitched. “Um, I was wondering if you’ve left the prison yet.”

_She must have forgotten something_. “No, I’m still here. Did you leave something behind?”

“No, no,” came Bridget’s voice from the other end. “My ride fell through. I was wondering, um, well, if I could get a lift home with you?”

“Oh, well, sure,” Vera said. This wasn't what she had been expecting at all. “Uh, I’ll be out in ten. I’m parked closest to the exercise yard on the right.”

“I know where the governor’s parking space is.” Vera thought she heard Bridget chuckling, but maybe that was just static.

“Oh, right,” Vera said, blushing a little. She was glad Bridget couldn’t see her. “Okay, then, meet you there shortly?”

“Yes, thank you. Bye.”

They hung up. Vera went over to her desk to fetch the compact and spare comb she kept in a drawer and checked herself in the mirror. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. _Well, that’s as good as it’s going to get_ , she thought, and put the items back into her desk. She picked up her jacket and bag and turned the lights out as she left, locking the door behind her.

In the parking lot she saw Bridget leaning against her car, back to Vera. “Hey,” she said as she pulled out her car keys.

Bridget jumped a little at the sound of her voice. “Oh, it’s you,” she said in relief. “Sorry, this day has been shit. I think I’m losing it a little.”

“You and me both,” said Vera. “Um, door’s unlocked.”

They got in the car. Vera pulled on her seatbelt, put the keys in the ignition, and fiddled with the radio nervously before looking over her shoulder and backing out.

“If you turn left out of here—“ Bridget began.

“Right, I’ve been to your house.” Now it was Bridget’s turn to blush. Silence fell between them. “Shame your ride fell through,” Vera said conversationally after a short while.

“Well, uh, my ride was Franky.” Bridget looked at Vera as if to gauge her reaction.

“Really, Bridge?” Vera sighed. “You should know better than to have her pick you up here. Who knows who could have seen you?”

“Well, it won’t be happening again. We broke up, just now,” Bridget confessed.

Vera’s stomach gave a little lurch. “Oh, uh, I’m really sorry to hear that.” She glanced over at Bridget.

Bridget was staring straight ahead. It was getting dark, and Vera couldn’t make out her expression.

“Well, I suppose it was bound to happen,” Bridget said stoically. “Better now than later, I guess, ey?”

“I suppose,” Vera replied, no other response coming to mind. For the second time today, she was at a loss as to what to say to Bridget. It unnerved her that their roles had suddenly reversed and Bridget was now the one in need of emotional support.

They were nearing Bridget’s house. “Vera,” Bridget’s eyes shifted their focus to her as they reached the driveway and Vera pulled in. “Come in? I just…it would be nice to have the company tonight,” she said.

Vera was torn between the desire to acquiesce and the impulse to flee. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Um, we could order in? Do you have any wine?”

“Do I have any wine?” Bridget smiled. A trace of her usual humor flashed in her eyes.

“Right,” Vera switched off the car engine and turned to pat Bridget on the shoulder consolingly. “Well, it’s nothing a little wine can’t fix!” she said bracingly. Bridget gave her a pained look. “Um, wrong thing to say, wasn’t it?” Bridget nodded. “Sorry, Bridge. I’m no good at this…breakup stuff. I’ve only ever done it once. Look, let’s get you in the house. You change into your most comfy pajamas, and I’ll call for Chinese and pour us some wine, okay?”

Bridget smiled gratefully at her. “Alright,” she said. "Thank you."

They got out of the car and walked towards the house. Bridget let them in. She dropped her bag by the door and headed in the direction of her bedroom. Vera had the number of a nearby delivery place on speed dial, and she called in the order while choosing a bottle from Bridget's wine rack.

Bridget reappeared right as Vera was hanging up the phone. She’d changed into sweatpants and a long sleeved tshirt. She looked both disheveled and…beautiful, Vera mused, then quickly pushed the thought away. She brought the wine into the living room and they plunked themselves down on the sofa. “Hm, do you want to watch something?” Vera asked, awkwardly sipping her wine. She really had no idea how to do this. Bridget nodded, so Vera picked up the TV remote and flipped through the channels until she found a rerun of some kids’ cartoon that she had liked growing up. Bridget gave her a weak smile, and they watched in silence until their food arrived.

After they’d eaten, Vera let Bridget veg on the couch while she cleaned up. She refilled their wine glasses and flopped back onto the couch next to Bridget. They looked at each other, neither one speaking. Vera felt suddenly flustered and stood up. “Look, I should probably get home…”

“Oh Vera, stay,” Bridget coaxed. “You’re not on the schedule tomorrow, right? It’s been a shit day for us both. Let’s just unwind and get a little drunk. You can pass out here if you need to.”

Bridget knew her schedule. For some reason, that made Vera feel all of a sudden very warm and a little bit tingly inside. “Well, ok, fine,” Vera said, sitting back down. “But…” her voice trailed off.

“Vera, I know there’s something we still haven’t really talked about.” Bridget spoke up, suddenly serious.

“Look, can we just forget that I did that?” Vera said, looking away. “I’m sorry that I kissed you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was just very...angry,” she finished lamely.

“Okay,” Bridget said slowly. “That’s not what I was going to bring up, but if you want to talk about it…?”

“No, let’s please just forget it.” Vera was feeling very uncomfortable. She took a gulp of her wine.

“Being angry makes you want to kiss people?” Vera gave Bridget a look. “Okay, okay. At any rate, I was going to say that I’m the one who owes you an apology.” Bridget looked at Vera earnestly and said, “Please believe me when I say I didn’t lie to you, Vera. There truly was nothing going on between Franky and me while she was in prison. She flirted, yes, but it was one-sided. Until it wasn’t, anyway. But when I realized I had feelings for her, I took steps to shut our therapeutic relationship down immediately. That day you saw us in the library, all we were doing was talking about Jodi Spiteri. She would have kissed me then, right before you showed up, if I’d let her, but I told her we couldn’t for as long as she was still at Wentworth. Nothing happened. I swear it, Vera.”

“I—oh.” Vera was taken aback. The warm, tingling feeling had returned. Bridget hadn’t lied to her after all. Hadn’t used her. “Oh God, I feel like such a jerk.”

“Well, you were a bit quick to the attack, but no hard feelings,” Bridget assured her. “I should have come clean to you about this right away when you rehired me after the fire. I truly am sorry for keeping it from you.”

“Thank you, Bridget,” Vera studied the other woman. “That means a lot to me, and I do believe you. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. I should have given you time to explain before I fired you, again.” She sipped her wine thoughtfully. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what did happen between you and Doyle just now?”

Bridget swallowed her wine and leaned back against the couch. “Well, she decided that she needed some space to work some things out for herself. It was the right decision for her, and I respect it, I do, but it was all so…sudden. And on a day like today, well that just makes it suck all the worse.”

Vera tilted her head toward Bridget and looked at her sympathetically. “I’m sorry about that, Bridge. Today really was an awful day, wasn’t it?” She covered Bridget’s hand with her own.

“Yeah, but at least we’ve got wine,” Bridget said, finishing her glass.

They laughed, the tension between them finally starting to dissipate. It felt good to be here, together, in this moment. They looked at each other and grinned. The room was starting to spin a little. Vera felt that it must be getting late and glanced up at the clock, and then back at Bridget, who she realized was still looking at her. She wore a strange expression that Vera couldn’t quite decipher. Vera glanced down and saw that her hand still lingered on her friend’s. She looked back up as her eyes connected with Bridget’s. Her breath hitched. “Vera—,“ Bridget breathed.

It happened as if in slow motion. Bridget was leaning towards Vera, drawing nearer and nearer as Vera’s heart began to pound furiously. Her eyes closed of their own accord a moment before she felt Bridget’s mouth cover hers.

Vera reveled in the lovely sensation of soft lips on her own. She felt Bridget press a hand to her cheek and caress it as she moved her lips slowly and gently against Vera’s. Time must have stopped, Vera was sure of it. When they finally pulled apart, Vera put a hand to her parted lips as if to make sure they were still there, still real.

Bridget’s eyes were still closed. “Franky,” she sighed.

Vera froze. Had Bridget just said…did she…was that Franky’s name she had just uttered? Vera was at a complete loss for words. “Excuse me?” she managed to push past her lips at last.

Bridget opened her eyes. “Vera,” she said, realizing her mistake. “No, no, no, no, no. I—“

“You what?” Vera asked, her voice shaking slightly.

When Bridget wasn’t able to do more than stare at her openmouthed, a mortified look on her face, Vera stood up, searching for her car keys. “I should leave,” she said flatly.

Bridget found her voice. “Vera, you can’t drive. You’ve had too much wine,” she said, standing and putting her hand on Vera’s arm.

Vera shook her hand off. “Just, let me be. Please.” She spotted her keys lying next to Bridget and reached for them.

Bridget was too quick for her. She grabbed them before Vera could and said, “It’s not safe. You’re drunk.”

“I’m drunk?” Vera’s voice was rising. “I’M drunk? You’re a fine one to talk!”

“Yeah, well it’s my house!” Bridget was struggling to keep her tone even, but now that she was standing, she realized that Vera was right. They’d both had too much to drink.

“Right. And that gives you permission to go kissing straight girls and calling them by their white trash ex-girlfriend’s name, does it?” Vera practically shouted.

Bridget blanched. “Get out of my house!” she yelled, furious.

“You have my fucking keys,” Vera shouted back.

Dammit. She did. “Fine, well, do what you want. I don’t really give a shit.” Bridget flung the keys back at Vera and practically ran from the room. Vera heard a door slam somewhere in the house.

She threw herself back down on the couch as tears flowed down her face. Bridget was right; she was too drunk to drive. She tossed her keys aside and leaned back against the couch, her head throbbing and her heart aching. As her sobs slowly subsided she closed her eyes and tried some stupid meditation technique Bridget had once taught her. Eventually, her breathing slowed and deepened, and she fell into a restless sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vera and Bridget deal with the fallout from their fight.

It was gearing up to be a shit month for Bridget. Maybe even a shit year. It had been weeks since she’d seen Franky, and the same amount of time since she’d spoken to Vera as anything more a colleague. She and Vera were avoiding each other at work, interacting only when strictly necessary, and even then their exchanges were stiff and impersonal. Bridget still burned with embarrassment and anger to remember the awful way that evening she’d spent with Vera the night she and Franky had broken up had ended. Vera clearly hadn't gotten over the events of that night either, judging by the icy way she addressed Bridget whenever circumstances forced them to be in the same room together.

Unfortunately today was going to be one of those times. Bridget was driving with Vera and Will Jackson to testify in Ferguson’s preliminary hearing. Being in a car with Vera for an hour and testifying against Ferguson were the second-to-last and final entries, respectively, on Bridget’s list of ways to spend a fun afternoon—after all, this was them going officially on the record against Ferguson, an act that would paint a target on all of their backs, if there wasn’t one there already.

Bridget was meeting Will first and then going to pick up Vera. She was thankful she wouldn't have to be alone in the car with Vera at all. As she pulled up to Will’s house, the front door open and the deputy governor emerged.

“Mr. Jackson,” Bridget greeted him as he got into the car.

“Miss Westfall, hi. Nice to see you,” Will said amicably.

“Sorry I’m running a bit late. Uh, can you send Vera a message that we’re on our way?” Bridget requested.

“Sure,” Will said, pulling out his phone. “What’s up with you and the governor anyway?” he asked casually as he typed the message.

Luckily Will was looking down at the phone, thereby missing Bridget’s start of surprise. She forced a neutral expression onto her face and attempted to feign innocence. “What? Me and Vera? I don’t know what you mean.”

“She’s been moping since before Ferguson was released into general, which, if I recall, was also right around the time your after-work weekly wine sessions together stopped. Seems to me like the two things are related,” Will replied, hitting the send button and turning towards Bridget.

“Everything is fine between Vera and me. We’ve had our hands full with Ferguson, is all,” Bridget said in what she hoped was a convincing tone.

Will looked at her suspiciously. “With all due respect, you’re full of shit,” he said. “Whatever it is, make it right, why don’t you? I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s clearly taking its toll on her, and when the governor’s in a bad mood, it makes life for all the rest of us that much harder.”

Will Jackson was more perceptive than Bridget had given him credit for. She was grateful that they were almost at Vera's and wouldn't have to continue this uncomfortable conversation.

The governor was already outside waiting for them when they arrived. “Mr. Jackson,” Vera said as she got in the car. “Miss Westfall,” she said curtly.

“Governor.”

They made for the main road, the uncomfortable silence between them broken by Will’s humming along to the radio and Bridget’s occasional soft curses at the other drivers on the road. It was going to be a long drive, Bridget though with resignation. 

It turned out to be a long afternoon, too. They took the stand in turns, answering a variety of questions about their relationships with Ferguson and their professional and personal opinions of her. By the time they were finished, Bridget was drained. She was starting to feel less confident of their chances of bringing Ferguson to justice in court. Based on the dejected looks on her colleagues’ faces, she could tell they felt the same.

Will addressed Bridget and Vera as the three of them left the building. “Hey, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to cut out. I’ve got a mate who works a block over who messaged and asked if I wanted to meet him and his wife for drinks after he gets off. They actually don’t live too far from me, so I’ll just get a lift home with them after.”

Bridget felt Will’s gaze on her as he spoke. “Um okay,” she heard Vera say. Was that a note of panic in her voice? “Have a good night, then,” she continued politely.

“See you tomorrow,” Bridget said. She glared at Will as soon as Vera's back was to them. The bastard. He looked back at Bridget and silently motioned his head toward Vera as they reached the car, before walking off in the direction of his imaginary, Bridget suspected, friend’s office.

Vera stood there without getting into the car. “You know, we don’t have to do this,” she said to Bridget. “I can just…call a cab or something.”

“Don’t be silly,” Bridget said. “That would cost you a fortune.”

The look that Vera gave her said she thought it just might be worth it.

“Oh, just get in the damn car,” Bridget said with exasperation. “I’ll turn on the radio and we can go back to ignoring each other per usual.”

Vera stayed where she was, her arms crossed.

“You really want to do this now?” Bridget said, her patience wearing thin.

“Yeah, you know what, I think I do,” said Vera defiantly.

“Fine. Well, get on with it. I’d like to avoid rush hour traffic.” Bridget checked her watch.

“Seriously?” Vera said. “That’s what you’re concerned about right now?”

Bridget let out a sharp breath. “What do you want from me, Vera?”

“What do I want from you? You kissed me, Bridget. You kissed me, and then called me Franky. So, I don’t know—an apology, maybe? An explanation?”

Bridget closed her eyes. The memory of their kiss flooded back to her. Her lips on Vera’s soft, full ones. The way she had felt Vera’s pulse quicken as Vera grasped her hand. The hurt and shock on Vera’s face after Bridget had called her Franky. She steadied herself and opened her eyes again. “Vera, it was a mistake. I was upset about Franky—we’d just broken up that evening, for heaven’s sake—and I was drunk.”

“Well, next time, keep your drunken mistakes away from me, okay?” Vera’s voice trembled.

“I didn’t mean…“ Bridget sighed with frustration and started again. “I hurt you, Vera, and I don’t know how I can ever express how sorry I am in a way that you’ll be able to believe is real.” She didn’t mention how she had kept watch from her bedroom window for the better part of an hour that night to make sure Vera didn’t try to drunkenly drive away, or how worried she’d been to discover Vera gone in the morning, or how guilty and upset she’d felt upon finding the cursory note Vera had left on the kitchen table that read: _Bridget, I can’t do this anymore. Please don’t try calling me. It’s for the best. Vera._

Bridget also remembered what Vera had said about Franky, and she felt a sudden rush of anger. “Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed you, and I certainly fucked up by calling you Franky, but you hurt me too, Vera. That was a really messed up thing you said about Franky.”

“Franky, Franky, Franky. It all comes down to protecting Franky, doesn’t it?” Vera said bitterly.

Wait a minute, was Vera…jealous? Understanding began to dawn on Bridget. She recalled the things that had happened between them since Vera had first confronted her over her relationship with Franky, and it all suddenly started to make sense. Bridget decided now was the time to lay all her cards on the table. “Goddamn it, Vera. Calling you Franky was a mistake. Kissing you was not.” How was that for honesty?

Vera blinked. “What...what are you saying?” she asked slowly.

Bridget took a deep breath and continued. “Franky was a special person in my life, but it wouldn’t have worked out in the long run. We just weren’t in the same place. I think I had started to realize that before it ended, and something definitely changed when you kissed me in your office, Vera, but I just...I couldn’t let Franky down. And no, I shouldn’t have kissed you drunk. But I also don't think I would ever have had the courage to kiss you sober.”

Vera looked at her longingly. "Oh, Bridget," was all she seemed capable of saying in response. 

"Vera, will you get in the car so I can finally kiss you properly?" Bridget said, her voice thick with desire. 

Vera flashed her a million dollar smile and got in the car.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly smut.

Vera was walking on air—had been, all week. Even Ferguson couldn’t bring her down, and that was saying something as it seemed to be her current mission to make Vera’s life as miserable as possible.

It was all Bridget, Vera thought dreamily as she sat at her desk, driven to distraction by the memory of the kisses they had shared in Bridget’s car following the hearing a few days prior. One minute she had been sure she and Bridget were broken beyond repair and the next they were in the car and Bridget was kissing her so passionately that she might have lost herself in Bridget’s arms forever, had they not first been interrupted by an irritable parking attendant.

From there they had proceeded to Vera's, where she dawdled in the car, reluctant to get out. “Well, good night then,” she finally said to Bridget, who leaned over the driver’s seat to kiss her goodbye. When the kiss deepened, Vera decided to take the plunge and make the first—no, second, if you counted the kiss in Vera’s office that had put this whole thing in motion—romantic advance of her life. When they broke apart, breathless, she said shyly, “Bridge, do you—do you want to come in?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Bridget replied with a mischievous look on her face.

The first thing Vera did upon entering the house was make sure the curtains were firmly closed—the last thing they needed was the wrong person to spot them getting hot and heavy the way she had unwittingly witnessed Bridget and Franky. However, she didn’t really know what she was supposed to do next. This was unfamiliar territory. She was relieved when Bridget took her by the hand and led her over to the couch. _Thank God at least one of us knows what she’s doing,_ Vera thought. She stole a glance at Bridget, who for her part was not taking any pains to hide the fact that she was checking Vera out, and that she liked what she saw.

Bridget met her gaze, a smoldering look in her eyes, and Vera came completely undone. She leaned towards Bridget and kissed her full on, slow at first and then accelerating the intensity. Bridget cupped Vera’s face in her hands as she traced Vera’s lips with her tongue. A low moan escaped from Vera and she buried her fingers in Bridget’s hair as she opened her mouth to pull Bridget’s tongue towards hers. They explored each other’s mouths for some minutes, until Vera felt hands moving down towards her body. She pulled away slightly and looked into Bridget’s eyes, already dilated with arousal. Something about the way the other woman was looking at her made her breath catch.

“Is this—do you—“ Bridget seemed incapable of forming a coherent sentence, but Vera understood that she was making sure she was really ready to do this. She nodded wordlessly.

Bridget pulled her back in and their lips collided as Bridget ran her hands down Vera’s back and around her waist to her stomach. She moved her hands up sensuously until they reached Vera’s breasts. Vera’s back arched automatically in response to Bridget’s touch, and Bridget began to unbutton her blouse, letting her hands brush back over Vera’s breasts as she did so. When she reached the final button she opened the shirt wide and slid it off Vera’s body. Vera could feel her nipples hardening, aching to be touched through the midnight blue satin of her bra, which Bridget took in appreciatively before beginning to run her hands teasingly over the lightly padded cups and under the straps. Vera arched her back again and let out an “oh God” as Bridget ran a finger under the back band and unclasped the bra in one fluid movement.

Vera gasped at the sensation of her stiff nipples being exposed to the cool air. Bridget winked at her and said cheekily, “Looks like somebody’s aroused.” Vera could only respond with another sharp gasp. Bridget pushed her gently back towards the couch and made to straddle her lap. She nibbled at Vera’s earlobes as she ever so lightly palmed Vera’s bare breasts. Slowly, her lips made their way down Vera’s neck and collarbone into the space between her breasts, and Bridget raised her eyes and threw Vera a look of pure eroticism before taking a nipple into her mouth and bathing it with her tongue. She ran her tongue lazily over the sensitive skin, biting down slightly. As she took Vera’s other nipple and began to roll it between her fingers, Vera felt a sudden white hot jolt run from her chest to right down between her legs, triggering a wave of wetness in her underwear.

Vera couldn’t remember ever having been this turned on. She let Bridget stimulate each of her nipples in turn, and then she urged Bridget’s head up so she could kiss her as she worked off Bridget’s shirt, driven mad with a sudden desire to see the ever-composed woman completely lose control.

Bridget’s bra was sheer and Vera could plainly see Bridget’s nipples straining through the lacy fabric. The knowledge that Bridget wore _this_ under her sensible work clothes made Vera both blush and grow wetter still. She pulled Bridget, still straddling her lap, close until she was at eye level with her breasts. For the first time her hands touched another woman’s breasts, and she marveled at how full and firm they were. She then moved to take a nipple between her teeth, bra be damned. She bit down and was rewarded with a loud moan coming from above her.

As she worked at Bridget’s nipples over her bra, she felt hands tugging at her waistband. She released Bridget’s breasts so that she could wriggle out of her trousers and sat up, panting. “Maybe we should, you know, move this to the bedroom?” she suggested, and Bridget nodded in agreement.

Between the kissing and the fondling, Vera didn’t know how they would ever make it up the stairs, but then there they were crossing the threshold to Vera’s bedroom and tumbling onto the bed. Vera found herself on top of the other woman, who had lost her bra somewhere along the way. Vera bent her head over Bridget’s chest and let her lips wander over her breasts as Bridget whimpered with pleasure beneath her. She moved a hand down under Bridget’s skirt, letting it inch its way slowly up Bridget’s thighs but stopping short of where she could tell Bridget wanted it the most.

“Oh _fuck,_ Vera,” Bridget exclaimed as Vera traced the outline of Bridget’s underwear with her fingers and rubbed them fleetingly over the damp material between her thighs. Bridget stared at Vera lustfully, her mouth parted and tongue darting out to lick her lips. Vera was enjoying the effect she was having on the other woman. But enough of teasing, she thought, and dipped her hand right into Bridget’s panties.

“You’re. So. Fucking. Wet,” Vera said as she pushed her fingers into the slickness and trailed them up towards where she knew Bridget’s clit must be. Bridget let out a long low moan. Bingo. Vera circled her fingers lightly over the flesh, aided by the natural lubrication that was gushing out of Bridget and was starting to flow faster from her own body as well, she could feel. Bridget moaned again.

“Vera.” The name came out as a faint whisper on Bridget’s lips. Vera withdrew her hand. Bridget groaned. “More,” was all she was able to get out. Vera smiled coquettishly, reaching back under Bridget’s skirt and emerging a few moments later with a pair of lacey panties in hand. Tossing them aside, she hitched Bridget’s skirt up around her waist and spread her legs apart. Then she lowered herself onto her stomach and took Bridget in. She was so fucking gorgeous. Vera could hardly stand the aching between her own legs as she opened her mouth and tentatively put her tongue between Bridget’s folds.

It was like Bridget had been lit on fire. Her hips bucked at the contact and she yelped. Vera had never done this before, but she guessed that anything that elicited such a response was probably on the right track, so she ran her tongue from top to bottom and back up again, to the same effect. She found Bridget’s clit and lapped at it gently. Bridget’s hips quivered as Vera lavished her most sensitive spot with hot, wet attention. Vera slowly added more pressure and sped up a little, every now and then diverting her tongue away from Bridget’s clit to lick up and down her swollen lips. _God, she tastes amazing,_ Vera thought giddily.

Through her lustful haze she could hear Bridget saying her name over and over again. “Vera, Vera, Vera, Vera, VERA,” she practically screamed as Vera swirled her tongue over Bridget’s sex. Instinctively Vera took one finger and prodded Bridget’s opening gently. Bridget was becoming less and less coherent. “Vera, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, yes, fuck me, oh God, Vera, oh God, God, God, God, God, God, OH G-.” She was yelling now. Vera could feel her tensing up and added another finger. At this, Bridget totally lost it. Her noises became guttural and her chest heaved upwards a split second before she fell silent, her whole body shaking. After several seconds she exhaled loudly and fell back against the bed. Vera felt muscles contracting around her fingers and continued to run her tongue over Bridget’s clit, albeit more gently now.

It was a few minutes before Bridget came fully around. She opened her eyes and flashed Vera a naughty grin. “That was one hell of an orgasm. Jesus, Vera, where’d you learn to do that?”

“I dunno. I just wanted to make you feel good.” Vera’s body hovered above Bridget’s. That had been so fucking hot. She could feel her whole body throbbing now with the need for release. Bridget propped herself up on her elbows, head thrown back.

“Make me feel good? Fucking hell, Vera. That was one of the best orgasms I've ever had,” she said in a tone that practically dripped sex.

Vera really couldn’t take it anymore. “Please, God, just fuck me Bridge.”

Bridget clearly didn’t need telling twice. She sat up, drawing Vera to her and kissing her deeply. Vera wrapped her legs around Bridget’s waist and let her head fall back, eyes closed and arms stretched back against the bed to support herself, as Bridget moved her mouth to Vera’s chest and sucked on her nipples again, not gently as she had before, but with a fierce sort of hunger now. As she let her mouth work above Vera’s waist, she moved one hand below it, running it over the crotch of Vera’s panties. Vera shuddered in response and thrust her chest out as she felt that same sort of electric jolt she had felt before shoot from her nipples to her clit. She felt like she might come just from Bridget’s tongue on her breasts.

Bridget pushed Vera’s panties aside and stroked her bare skin lightly. The moment Bridget’s fingers made contact with Vera’s clit a primal noise erupted from Vera’s throat. She opened her eyes, a little embarrassed at the sound she had just made. Bridget didn’t seem to care. She was looking at Vera hungrily, and there was another jolt in Vera’s center as their eyes met. She was floored by the full force of their connection. She’d never felt anything near to this with another person before.

Bridget must have felt it too, because she shuddered as if she had just been on the receiving end of an electric shock. She moved her lips from Vera’s breasts back up to her mouth and kissed her passionately, twining their tongues together. She shifted the hand that rested on Vera’s sex so that her palm was pressed against Vera’s clit and her fingers were buried in Vera’s folds. Vera ground her hips into the other woman’s hand. She needed to come so badly, needed Bridget to be the one to make it happen. As she rubbed herself against Bridget, she felt a finger push past her entrance and let out a throaty moan. She could already feel herself rapidly approaching a point of no return when Bridget cupped Vera from behind with her free hand and moved her mouth back to Vera’s nipples. That was enough to push Vera over the edge, the sudden surge of pleasure wiping her mind completely blank of everything but Bridget’s name.

As she came down from her climax, she felt Bridget's hands on her, one at her back, supporting her, and another massaging her inner thighs as she floated back to earth. All her work-related tension and stress had evaporated, if only momentarily. She didn’t have much sexual experience to compare it to, but this, she thought, was as perfect as it must get.

Vera couldn’t contain the grin spreading across her face as she leaned back against the headboard. She couldn't believe how quickly, how unexpectedly, how wondrously the direction of her relationship with Bridget had changed. However, she knew there was one final thing that needed to be said before she gave herself over completely to elation.

"Bridget," she began.

"Hm?" Bridget said absently, her face mirroring the goofy look Vera was sure must be plastered all over her own face.

"You were right. What I said about Franky, you know, that night—that was rude and uncalled for. I'm sorry I said that. And for getting so belligerent with you about the car keys. I know you were just looking out for me."

Bridget's smile broadened. "Apology accepted," she said. She looked at Vera thoughtfully, and after a moment she added, "One more thing about that, though—that night, you also called me out for kissing straight girls. Are you, you know...straight?"

"What do you think?" Vera said teasingly.

"Well, I suppose I always thought you were. You and Matt Fletcher had a relationship, didn't you?"

"If you can even call it that," Vera snorted. "That lasted all of, what was it, three dates?"

"So, Fletch, and....?" Bridget prompted.

"And who? Other than Billy Reeves in 10th grade, and you can hardly count him, that's all." Vera felt embarrassed admitting this to Bridget. "But I suppose I've always fallen for men. Until now, anyway."

Bridget nodded with understanding. The words tumbled out of Vera's mouth before she really had a chance to think about them. "Are you...what's the deal with you, anyway? I really can't imagine you with a man."

"I'm gay," Bridget said with certainty. "110%." Vera laughed.

"When did you know?" Vera asked, curious.

"Grad school. I was in love with my own therapist, funny enough, and in sorting that out I realized it wasn't this one person who happened to be a woman who I'd fallen for, but that I was categorically attracted to women. It's different for everyone, though."

"Hm." During the long stretch of time when they hadn’t been speaking, Vera had finally managed to admit her feelings for Bridget to herself, but still didn't quite know what make of them. "To be honest, I'm not really sure what this means for me," Vera said. “It’s, well, it’s complicated, isn’t it?”

“It’s complicated,” Bridget agreed, and a comfortable silence fell between them. Vera reached for Bridget, and they drifted off to sleep with their arms wrapped around each other.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6 months later, Bridget and Franky meet again as planned.

Bridget sat in the cafe nervously. It was the same cafe where she had met Vera so long ago, where she had been surprised to feel the first stirrings of friendship with the deputy governor upon forming their tentative alliance against Ferguson.

And now it was where she was to meet Franky.

She hadn’t talked to Franky since they’d broken up. For the first month or so after that fateful conversation in Franky’s car—and her fateful encounter with Vera later that same night—she’d had to stop herself from dialing her former lover out of loneliness and sheer misery more times than she’d cared to admit. But once she had started seeing Vera, she hadn’t really wanted to anymore. She still thought about Franky, to be sure, but in a more nostalgic than painful way.

Franky had actually been the one to contact her, to make good on the suggestion she had made the day they’d broken up that they meet in six months. Bridget agreed, with some reservation. First of all, she was uncertain as to how Vera, who had ended up handling the whole thing quite gracefully, would react to her bringing up the idea of meeting an ex. Second, she wasn’t sure she could handle whatever Franky had to say, wasn’t sure she could behave herself if Franky wanted her back, knew she really did want to be with Vera, knew it would hurt all the same if Franky rejected her.

“Gidget, hi.” Bridget’s wandering thoughts abruptly shifted to the tall, dark-haired woman now standing in front of her.

“Franky, how are you?” She stood to embrace the younger woman.

“Well, I’m doing much better now that I’ve seen you,” Franky winked. Bridget’s heart skipped a beat. Franky clearly still had an effect on her.

“Good to see you too,” Bridget smirked. It really was, so help her God. They sat down. “How’ve you been, Franky?”

“Well, believe it or not,” Franky said with a shrug.

Bridget smiled. “I do believe it.”

“I haven’t managed to save up quite enough to start law classes yet, but I still got that job with legal aid, and I finally got out of that shit apartment into a better place. And get this, I found out I got a 3 year old sister on my dad’s side, so I’ve been spending time with her. Even made some progress on my relationship with my dad.” The way Franky’s eyes lit up at the mention of her family was not lost on Bridget. Franky continued. “Somehow I did it, Gidge. I’m standing on my own two feet.”

“I’m really proud of you, Franky. I knew you had it in you.” Bridget meant it.

Franky paused. “I’ve also started seeing somebody.”

 “Oh?” Bridget said, trying to keep her tone neutral. It didn’t exactly feel good to hear the words, but then again, it didn’t feel like she’d just been punched in the stomach like she'd been expecting it would to hear news like this from Franky.

“Yeah, well…I’m sure you’ve heard of Erica Davidson?” Franky asked hesitantly.

Bridget was taken aback. “Wasn’t she governor before Ferguson?”

“Yeah. After Wentworth she got back into law, and we reconnected through a case of hers that was going through our department.”

Bridget laughed before she could help herself. “Well, you certainly have a type.”

“Hot, smart blondes? You bet,” Franky said with a wink.

“I was thinking more along the lines of older blonde authority figures.”

Franky chuckled, before giving Bridget a more serious look. “Um, so, how you been, Gidge?”

“Pretty good," Bridget said lightly. "Ferguson’s still giving us all hell at Wentworth, but your girls are getting by.” Franky smiled at this.

Bridget paused, choosing her next words. “I, uh, I’m seeing somebody too. Well, actually, you know her. It’s Vera Bennett,” she confessed.

Bridget didn’t feel it would be an exaggeration to say Franky’s jaw dropped about a foot just then. “No fucking way. Ol’ Vinegar Ti—“ she stopped at the sharp look on Bridget’s face. “I mean, Miss Bennett’s a lesbo? Holy shit! How’d that happen? Never woulda pegged her for one o’ us.”

“She pursued me…sort of…well, it’s a long story. Anyway, she’s not exactly gay, but it’s working for us.”

Franky grimaced. “It’s the straight ones that always break your heart.”

Bridget laughed shortly. “You’re preaching to the choir.”

“Just be careful, Gidge. I don’t wanna see you get hurt,” said Franky earnestly. “Vera, though, she’s good people, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she really is,” said Bridget a little dreamily. “I—“

Her words were cut short by the ringing of a phone. Franky looked at Bridget apologetically and said, “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

Bridget motioned for her to answer. Franky got up and walked away, too far for Bridget to make out what she was saying. She returned a minute later, frowning.

“Gidge, I gotta go. There’s a situation at the office. Oh, everything’s fine. Or it will be,” she added, catching the concern on Bridget’s face. “Why am I the one always has to sort everyone’s mess out? They really don’t pay me enough for this shit.” She chuckled and turned to Bridget, who stood to embrace her one last time. They hugged each other tightly, lingering for a second longer than strictly necessary, but then Bridget was letting go, and Franky was walking away, and Bridget was smiling bittersweetly after her through suddenly watery eyes, because somehow she knew they were both going to be okay.

 


End file.
